Ever Just As Sure
by Penderghast
Summary: Adam's not fully accustomed to being human again. Belle helps to remind him, bit by bit.


Summary: Adam's not fully accustomed to being human again. Belle helps to remind him, bit by bit.

* * *

Whenever Adam touches her he does so very carefully, hands tender and shaking from the fear of scraping her skin with claws that are no longer there. Belle steadies them in her grip, kisses the joints between his knuckles to remind him it's okay. He bows his forehead to rest against hers and huffs nervously.

"You feel so warm." she hums, her voice low in his ear. Clumsy, earnest kisses are peppered down the length of her jaw, and it's all Belle can do to tilt her chin back while her fingers undo the buttons of his waistcoat. She sighs and shakes her head. A laugh bubbles up from her throat, startling him.

* * *

He accompanies her to the library one evening. Belle's slippers are tucked beneath the hem of her gown, her knees folded in as she settles down on the ornate carpet. Behind her the fireplace sputters and crackles with light, the heat from it prickling the back of her collar.

"Would you read this to me?" she asks suddenly, looking up from the tome she's been examining in her lap. Adam leans near one of the lower shelves with his arms at his sides. Belle stands up and crosses the room to him, skirts gathered in front of her.

"I've never seen this one before." he frowns, peeling the book from her grip and running his fingers along the spine. The cover looks worn and plain. Inside, many of the pages are dog-eared and yellowing.

"You could keep practicing with me" Belle starts, "Like we did before."

He considers her for a moment. Her eyes are soft, the hazel muted. In the firelight the hollow of her Cupid's bow peaks out at him teasingly.

"Please?"

A flush of color crawls up his neck. He nods, helpless. Belle grasps him gently, leading them both back to the fire. She lays her cheek upon his shoulder and the words spill awkwardly out of his new human mouth, the shape of it twisting and scrunching as he forms the sounds aloud for the first time.

* * *

Adam's hand snakes its way to the base of her scalp, tugging her hair back as his fingers knot themselves around the curls. Belle arches at the touch, humming her approval at him. The bedclothes she's wearing feel foreign against her skin, the silk softer than anything she's ever been used to. Her chemise smells of rosewater and dust, and in the dimness she can spot his other palm laid broad and flat against the flash of her thigh.

"Is this alright?" his voice his shaky. There's no embellishment to it, no agenda or conceit.

She pulls him down, and when their lips touch their noses bump too. Elbows knock one at another, the sheets twisting and bunching beneath them. Outside, the snowy winds press against the glass windowpanes of the west wing. The sound of the castle straining against the storm eats at the silence, and Belle brings Adam closer still.

* * *

Their wedding is held in the following spring. Belle wears her mother's brooch and a Parisian gown, the corset pinching her sides.

The affair is small and private, far removed from the excess and finery of Versailles or even the fairytales in her beloved books. Adam stands across from her cutting a fine figure. The line of his shoulders is broad and overwhelming, and in that moment he looks every bit the prince of her childhood fantasies.

Belle is to be his consort. The thought both terrifies and elates her. Before them, the bishop drones on, unaware.

Afterwards, when they are ushered out onto the ballroom, he takes her hand in his again. Belle bites at her lower lip. Adam's eyes, the only part of him left unchanged after all this time, roam over her. Fingers reach up to cup her cheek, those blue forget-me-nots drinking her in.

"Will you dance with me?" it's a simple question, but she has to blink away her tears all the same. He palms the small of her back, a gentle reminder of another night not too long ago, and the hairs along her arms rise up in a shiver.

* * *

There are nights when she never comes back. Nights where she is lost to him, where the snowfall obscures her footprints and the wind scatters her scent across the valley. Sometimes she does not love him in time, and sometimes she never appears at all. Sometimes it is simply not enough, and the enchantment claims him forever.

Often the hunter is there, grinning at him from the shadows. The hunter, his back bowed and his rifle raised, stepping softly across the marble floors, inching closer. Adam bows his head, turns away in shame. His portrait hangs in tatters on the wall, only the mouth remains intact. It speaks to him about something he cannot understand. His hands are not hands anymore, and knowing that makes him want to retch.

The forest claims the castle once more. Time moves slowly, imperceptibly, until there's nothing left but a ruin, the stone crumbling under its own weight.

Something calls after him; a voice, firm and warm and impossibly familiar. Hands reach out across the void. They grip his shoulders and shake him gently awake, and Adam can see that it's _her_ finally, the line of her cheek outlined faintly in the darkness. It's Belle that's crying out to him, coaxing his eyes open.

"Adam, I'm here!" she hisses, her hold anchoring him as he shoots up in a cold sweat. _She's here_, he realizes, and the thought of it fills him up until he can hardly breathe.

* * *

AN: Re-watching childhood movies for the umpteenth time gave me nostalgia feels, so this fluff had to be written.


End file.
